Olives
by omfg it's sophie
Summary: Vernon Dursley & Peter Pettigrew. Written for a 'challenge'. [R&R]


**A/N In order to stay up all night, Nar and I wrote down names and picked them out of a hat. We also picked a random word. For this one, the characters are Vernon Dursley and Peter Pettigrew, and the word is 'olive'. It's utter uncanon rubbish. Enjoy. **

Vernon Dursley never did the grocery shopping. He probably wouldn't be able, if faced with a squash and a turnip, be able to tell which was which. He was the type of man who believed money made a relationship stable and he wouldn't demand a divorce so long as the woman did the cooking, cleaning and laundry. Luckily for him, Petunia Dursley believed exactly the same thing.

Except Petunia Dursley was on holiday. She had gone on holiday without him with that Yvonne friend of hers. And she had not bought any white bread. She had only bought brown bread for Dudders (ridiculous thing, schools, of course he was a healthy size), and they didn't have any white bread. Dudley wasn't even at home anymore; he had gone to Smeltings for his summer term and Vernon didn't particularly see why, now Dudley was back at school, they couldn't have white bread again.

He didn't even like brown bread. You could never know what was in it, with the lumpy nuts and, and, and _cabbage_ tucked away inside it.

He never remembered setting foot in a grocery store, except when he was a small child and his mother had dragged him along. He had forgotten how _cold_ they were, as well.

Glaring disapprovingly at all the men- probably either housemen or gay, neither of which appealed to Vernon-, he sauntered off to the dried cereal-ey foods.

_My God_, Vernon thought in awe, _look at how many types of bread there are!_ There was Hovis and Wonder and so many white breads.

Vernon hovered around his selected bread, glancing up and down the aisle to make sure that there was no one from work or around the neighbourhood that he knew who would make a fool of him if they knew he went out to buy bread. Slowly, he jumped up and down on the balls of his feel, moving in and out towards to bread before quickly snatching it and walking quickly away from there toward the cashiers.

Then his eye caught some olives. Vernon turned, eyes fixed on the olives. He did like a nice olive. Had them in Italy first time a few years ago and they were terribly nice on white bread with some cheese and maybe peanut butter. Vernon wandered over to the olives, making it look like he was simply walking that way on purpose and did not want to buy an olive. He paused to look at the olives for a moment, reached out a hand to snap in and then back out when-

His hand was cut off by someone who had cut in front of him and was looking at the seedless olives. Vernon scowled. And it was a man. Probably a poof.

"Excuse me," he said gruffly, in the tone that obviously meant that the man in front of him should move right that second if he wanted to stay the shape he currently was. The man turned around, revealing watery blue eyes, a sharp nose, and thin blonde hair. The man blinked feebly.

"Sorry?" he said timidly, lightly, as if he didn't realise he was _wasting Vernon's time_. "You want an olive?" Vernon scowled and shook his head urgently. The man shrugged.

"They're very good olives, these ones," he said abruptly. "I like cupcakes better, but olives are really very good too." He took a jar off the shelf and showed it to Vernon. "I like these ones the best," he said simply.

Vernon stared. The man grinned eagerly at him.

"Erm. Goodbye," Vernon said sharply. The man shrugged and loaded the jar of olives into his cart, which wasn't very full, asides from some yellow and pink iced cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles and a potato.

Vernon, by now, really rather wanted an olive. He was in the olive mood. He circled back round, up one aisle, around another, down one more, until he was back at the olive section. The man should have left by now, he had already got his olives.

He was _still there_.

Oh Jesus Christ.

Vernon cut in front of him, grabbed a jar of olives, and turned away sharply.

"So you do want them!" the man said cheerfully after him. Vernon did not like cheerful people. They were very optimistic.

"No," he said shortly. "They're for. My uncle." The man grinned knowingly.

"Ah," he said sympathetically. "He has that disease? I can't remember what it's called. My friend had it once. Mad about olives, it makes you, dunnit?" Vernon blinked. The man said, as if in explanation of himself, "I know how it is."

"Please stop bothering me?" Vernon said uncertainly. He turned, purchased his items, and left the store, adding People Who Talk Are Cheerful About Olives to the list of People Who I Don't Like.


End file.
